Nightmares of the Terrified
by xxliveforever17xx
Summary: Sam experiences his first nightmare since being tortured by Brennan, and only Andy can calm him down. Immediately after 2x13.


Andy McNally was terrified.

Per Sam's request, she had gone home with him, to his _real_ home. At first, everything had been fine, better than fine, really. She had told him on the ride over she would cook him anything he wanted - which had turned out to be tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches - and while she had busied herself preparing the rather simple meal, he had sat at the kitchen table, just watching her, making the occasional Sam-esque quip about nothing in particular.

After the two a.m. dinner she had been getting ready to leave, when he had told her in no uncertain terms that she was to go nowhere tonight other than his bed, with him. She hadn't been expecting sex, which was a good thing, since all he had wanted to do was lay down and cradle her in his good arm. The culmination of the day's events and the pattern of abstract designs she was drawing on the arm around holding her had him asleep in a matter of minutes, and once she was sure he was out, she too fell asleep.

And then the screaming had started. The strangled shriek that sounded like it came from a banshee had Andy reaching for the gun on her bedside table before her half-asleep mind registered the fact that a) she wasn't in her house, and b) the screaming wasn't coming from a banshee. It was coming from Sam.

She had never heard Sam scream before. Yell, yes, in anger or frustration or exhilaration, but never scream, and certainly never scream in fear.

Rolling over, she saw her partner, his face contorted, his eyes still shut, trapping him in the horror being experienced.

Waking up a person in the throes of a nightmare was never a good idea, and she had no idea how deeply Sam was in his sleep, but she knew that she couldn't possibly let him go through this. So she did the one thing she knew would wake him up - she punched his broken arm that was still slung in the black sling.

Another scream was cut off midway as his eyes flew open, the pain of his physical injury overtaking the expression of horror on his face momentarily. Then, as the pain subsided, the fear crept back. And then the hyperventilating came, which scared her even more than the screaming.

"It's okay, it's okay, you're safe, Sam...I'm here, it's okay, you're safe," she murmured, repeating comforting nonsense in his ear as she resumed the soft patterns being drawn by her fingers, this time traveling up and down his back as well as his arm.

"Andy," he managed to rasp out, and the glow from the hallway light that was spilling into the room was enough to illuminate the panic on his face, his eyes fluttering, desperately trying to focus on her face.

"I'm right here," she whispered, moving her hand up to his face to gently cup his cheek.

And for the third time in the span of a minute, Sam did another thing she had never seen him to before.

He dropped his head into the crook of her neck and cried.

The feel of his tears on her bare skin and the ragged sobs coming from the broken man she was holding was enough to make her cry also. She held him, rocking his body gently as he expressed through tears what words couldn't - the fear, the anxiety, the sheer panic and horror, desperation and loneliness and resignation and _aloneness_ he had felt during those ten hours trapped in Brennan's twisted torture games.

The feel of his tears in his throat and on his face had thrown him back into the remembrance of the water poured down his throat and the heaves of his chest from the crying sending him into even more hysteria as the motions were far too familiar to his heart and lungs constricting and burning as they began to shut down from drowning, but he couldn't stop the sobs from coming, wasn't even capable of registering where he was or who he was with.

Eventually, he began to calm down, began gaining back some recognition of his surroundings. The voice whispering in his ear - that was Andy's, and the hands and arms encircling him - those were also hers.

He pulled his head back and looked at her, seeing her red rimmed eyes and knowing his were far worse looking.

"Andy," he said again, his voice hoarse and shaky, his eyes blinking away the remnants of his tears.

"I'm here." She rubbed her thumb across his jawline, down his throat, and back up again. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, his forehead touching hers, his eyes closed, breathing deeply in...out...in...out...

"Talk to me, Sam," she whispered, her words coaxing another ragged breath from him. She knew that there would be the mandatory department shrink visits he'd have to go through, knew the psychological clearance he'd have to complete in order to return to duty. She also knew that he would never be entirely honest with the shrink or the department - she hadn't been honest, after all, when she had killed that man. She had told them what they had wanted to hear, and they had cleared her with flying colors. She hadn't been honest with anybody. Except with Sam.

It was her turn now to be the strong partner, her turn to be the only one he'd be honest with.

"Talk to me," she whispered again.

He moved his head down a fraction of an inch, gliding the tip of his nose over hers in their own special, secret way, the intimate motion calming him down. He returned his forehead to hers, running his good hand down her arm until it reached the fingers running up and down his own arm, and linked his fingers through hers.

"It was so horrible. So, so horrible, Andy." His voice was barely a whisper, and she had to strain her ears in order to hear him. "My lungs are on fire, and I can hear my heart in my ears, pounding and pounding and pounding until I can't hear it anymore, because it's stopped, and I can't breath anymore, and then it's dark."

His breaths started coming faster again, and he tightened his grip on her fingers as he began to relive his torture. "And I'm awake again, and my lungs hurt so bad I wish I wasn't alive, and he's asking me those same questions again, and I know the water's coming again because I can't give him what he wants and that scares me so much. And then the hammer comes out, and he hits me in the head with the handle, and I'm so grateful because the water isn't coming back. But then it does come back. It always comes back. And this time is worse than the last time, and I stay awake longer, and my lungs are on fire again, and then the beating in my ears stops, and then I wait for the darkness, but it doesn't come, and I'm laying on the floor, trying to breath but can't and now I'm back upright in the chair and he's hitting me with the hammer again on my knee, and I feel it shatter and it travels all the way down to my foot and I try not to scream and I bite my tongue and I feel it split and the blood run down my throat and I panic because it's just like the water."

He finally stopped, the memories finally reaching the end, because the fight at the very end wasn't what scared him, since he had been able to inflict pain himself, and as long as he was able to fight back it was okay.

The caress of her fingers on his face and the hand he just intertwined with hers slowly pulled him back from the hell he just experienced again.

"You're safe now," she whispered, softly kissing him, and she felt him smile against her lips at her words.

She laid back down on the bed, pulling him down with her, letting him situate himself so that he is the one holding her even though she wanted to be holding him.

He ghosted his lips against her hair, already slipping back into sleep. "I love you, Andy. I do."

A tear slipped from her eye, but she quickly wiped it away before it splashed down on his shirt and alerted him to her crying.

"I love you too."


End file.
